


If You're With Me On the Inside

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While caring for a concussed Neal, Peter makes an unexpected discovery about how the agent's time in prison affected his CI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You're With Me On the Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/gifts).



> Written for [angel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/pseuds/angel) for [](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/)**fandom_stocking**. 
> 
> Spoilers for 4.16 and the S5 story arc. Story contains descriptions of prison violence, but nothing particularly graphic.
> 
> Title from "Let's Just Fall" by Reckless Kelly.

As Peter drove to home to Brooklyn with Neal dozing in the passenger seat beside him, he couldn’t help shaking his head at how quickly such a normal day had gone to hell in a big flaming handcart with bells on it.

This certainly wasn’t the way he’d expected to spend his afternoon, but then again, no one ever really plans for a routine interview with a suspect in a Medicaid fraud case to go so spectacularly wrong. The morning case meeting and subsequent trip to the man’s residence had gone according to plan, but just as they’d gotten to the third floor landing in the apartment building, their suspect barreled through the stairwell door in a full-on sprint.

The wild-eyed man, who had at least four inches in height and one hundred pounds on Peter, had taken one look at the agent reaching for his weapon and panicked. He’d sidestepped Peter and plowed right through Neal before vaulting over the railing like something straight out of an action movie. Stuntman he wasn’t, though, and he’d broken his ankle upon landing, just in time for Jones to arrive and put him in cuffs.

Neal hadn’t even known what hit him. He’d tumbled head over feet down the flight of stairs in a way that would have thoroughly embarrassed him had he been conscious when it was over. There’d been no chance of that, though, as he came to an abrupt stop on the landing, his head smacking against the wall with such force that Peter almost saw sympathetic stars.

The next several hours were a blur of lights, sirens, doctors, waiting rooms, tests and questions, incessant beeping, nauseating antiseptic smells, and scorched coffee. By the time they’d declared Neal fit enough for discharge, both of them had been more than ready to get out of the hospital.

Thankfully, the karmic scale started to tilt back in their favor by the time Peter got home, and he was able to find a parking space right out front. He got out and went around to open Neal’s door, then leaned in and shook the younger man as gently as possible.

“Neal. Come on, we need to get you inside.”

“Mmm.” Neal’s eyes opened just long enough to squint at him and frown. “No.”

Normally, Peter would’ve been irritated by such a reply, but as he looked at the disheveled young man in front of him, all he could feel was sympathy…and a twinge of fear. Neal’s life had changed in an instant that morning, and though it was only temporary, it could very easily have been much worse. If he'd been pushed over the railing and not just down the stairs...

Peter glanced at the bandage on Neal’s head and swallowed hard before trying a different approach, one that would have made El proud.

“Neal, I know you want to sleep, but I think you’d be more comfortable in bed. How does that sound? We’re at my place, so there aren’t as many stairs. You think you can give me a little help here?”

Neal opened his eyes again, glanced out the window, then squeezed his eyes shut again. “Bed? Sounds good.” He lifted one of his arms up, and Peter slipped it around his shoulder, reminding himself to be patient as Neal worked his way out of the car.

It was slow going, but they managed to make it inside without incident. Neal groaned at the prospect of going up the stairs, but Peter just told him to keep his eyes closed, then hauled him up as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t until they got to the guest room that Peter realized it wasn’t exactly ready for visitors. El had stripped the sheets and removed the window treatments to let the room air out and get some light while she was away visiting her sister.

“Dammit,” he muttered as he surveyed the room from the doorway, still supporting much of Neal’s weight.

“Huh?” Neal still hadn’t risked opening his eyes.

“Minor setback.” Peter turned them around and led Neal into the master bedroom, lowering him to sit on the edge of the bed. Neal let out an audible sigh when they finally stopped moving, then gasped when he opened his eyes.

“Peter, I’m…this is your…wait.” The combination of horror and frustration on Neal’s face might have almost been comical if not for the circumstances. Peter held out his hands in a placating gesture.

“It’s fine. The guest room isn’t made up, and El’s at her sister’s. I can sleep on the chair if it comes to that.” He gestured to the chaise in the corner.

Neal’s frown grew, and he rubbed at his temple. “But this…god, I hate words.”

Peter did smile at that. “Neal, you need to rest. Just lay down, let me take care of things until you’re feeling better, and then we’ll pretend this never happened. How’s that sound?”

Neal nodded, then groaned at the pain it caused. He started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and Peter left to give him some privacy and to gather a few things. When he returned with a bottle of Tylenol, a glass of water, and a pair of sweatpants, Neal had only made it through half of the buttons.

“I think my fingers are…concussed.” His hands were shaking, and Peter took them in his own, guiding them away.

“Your fingers are like the rest of you,” he said, making quick work of the rest of the buttons, even as Neal sighed in protest. “They need rest. _You_ need rest.” He slid Neal’s shirt off as carefully as he could and laid it over a chair. When he knelt to take off Neal’s shoes, the younger man nudged him away.

“Peter, I think I can –” He leaned over, and the rest of the sentence caught in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“You gonna be sick?”

“Mmm. No.” Neal pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and his cheeks pinked, undoubtedly at the memory of the rebellion his stomach staged at the hospital. They’d injected an anti-emetic into his IV and sent him home with a small supply of Zofran, so at least that was one less symptom they’d had to deal with. Peter slipped the pack of pills out of his shirt pocket and put them on the nightstand beside the other things he’d brought.

“Look, there’s no one else here to see this. Well, except Satchmo, and he’s great at keeping secrets. Let me do it.” When Neal hummed and leaned back on his hands, Peter took that as permission to continue and made quick work of Neal’s shoes. Getting him out of his pants and into the sweatpants took a little more maneuvering and elicited some embarrassed grumbling from Neal, but he was under the covers in the sweats and his undershirt within a few minutes.

“Okay, your water, Tylenol, Zofran, and phone are here on the nightstand. Chuck bucket’s down here if you need it.” Peter held up a small trash can before putting it beside the bed. “I’m going to go let Satch out and grab my laptop, and I’ll be back up after that.” He gave Neal’s shoulder a squeeze. “Get some sleep. That’s the best thing for you right now.”

Neal looked at him warily for a moment before finally letting the corners of his mouth curl upwards in a grateful smile. He closed his eyes, and Peter took that as his cue to head downstairs.

\-------------

Neal had been asleep for a few hours without incident, leaving Peter with plenty of time to change into jeans and a polo shirt, catch up on emails, and start going through the case files he’d had in the car. He finally got up to offload what was hopefully the last of the hospital coffee and was drying his hands when he heard a moan from the bedroom. He hurried in, only to find Neal sitting halfway up in bed, one hand stretched out in front of him, reaching for something that only he was seeing.

“Peter, look out!”

“Neal?” Peter hurried over to the bed and leaned over him. 

“No!” This time, both hands came up, grasping at the air. Neal’s eyes were unfocused but wide with the same terror that was reflected on the rest of his face. “Don’t…he didn’t…leave him alone. Peter, no…please! He needs help.”

“Neal, hey.” Peter grabbed Neal’s shoulders and shook him as hard as he dared. “I’m right here. Neal? It’s me, it’s Peter.” He moved so he was in Neal’s field of vision, but it took a moment for the younger man to focus on him, and he thought back to the list of danger signs the hospital had given him. Unusual behavioral change? Increasing confusion? Was he not recognizing Peter?

Frowning, Peter sat down on the bed beside Neal and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, using his other hand to guide one of Neal’s hands back down to his lap. Peter was stunned to find the man trembling against him, muscles tensed. His presence seemed to have a calming effect, though, as Neal dropped his other hand and leaned into Peter, breathing heavily. Peter just held him there, trying to provide whatever silent reassurance he could, until Neal laid his injured head on his shoulder.

“Neal? You awake now?”

“Yeah.” With that single syllable, he sounded equal parts miserable and humiliated, but Peter found it reassuring. If Neal was coherent enough to be feeling those emotions, it was definitely a good sign.

“How’s your head?” Peter asked cautiously. “Time for more Tylenol?”

“Yeah. Ahh.” Neal rocked his head carefully from side to side, stretching his neck as best he could. “Feels like someone put my head in a bench vise. And then ran over it with a steamroller.”

“That’s…wow.” Peter dropped a couple of the pills into Neal’s hand, then handed him the glass, acutely aware of the way the other man’s hands shook as he washed the pills down. When he was done, Neal leaned back against the padded headboard. Most of his body had stopped trembling, but he still looked shaken in general. “You need anything else?”

“New head?” Neal managed a half-smile. “I’m good. I just want to sit here for a few minutes, let the pills settle.”

“Still a little queasy?”

“Might be.” After a quick glance at Peter, Neal closed his eyes.

Peter sat there in silence for a few moments, reclining against the headboard like Neal, one of the pillows propped behind his back. He was desperate to ask Neal about what had just happened, but he also didn’t want to stress him out. Then again, he needed to know if Neal’s symptoms were getting worse. It wasn’t convincing, but that’s what he told himself as he took a deep breath and broached the subject.

“Neal, about…do you remember…was it a dream? Hallucination? I’m supposed to watch for certain things.”

Neal let out a frustrated sigh and opened his eyes, though he didn’t turn his head to look at Peter. “Peter, I’ve had concussions before. I’ll be fine. I’m not having a seizure or puking my guts out. Or calling you Elizabeth.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut again when he realized he didn’t have a comeback that wouldn’t sound like he was trying to interrogate Neal – or guilt him into giving up the details. Instead, he just clasped his hands in his lap and stared down at his feet.

They sat in silence for several minutes, long enough for Peter to wonder if Neal had dozed off sitting up. Just as he was about to check, Neal swallowed audibly.

“It was a nightmare,” he said, his voice soft and raspy. “Haven’t had that one since…” He cleared his throat. “It’s been a while. It’s probably from whatever they gave me at the hospital. Or the concussion. Or both.”

Peter said nothing, almost afraid to interrupt before he was sure Neal was finished talking. That fact that it was a nightmare eased his concern, but at the same time, he’d heard his own name come out of the mouth of his very frightened CI.

Even with his injury, Neal was apparently still able to decipher Peter’s silence. “Did I…say anything, or freak out or something?”

Sighing, Peter turned to face Neal. The younger man’s eyes were now open, and he was watching Peter closely. “You did. You, uh, told me to look out and said ‘leave him alone’ and ‘he needs help.’ And you were reaching out for something.”

Neal’s eyes widened and he ran a hand down over his face. “I said your name?”

“Yeah.” Peter laid a hand on his sheet-covered knee. “Look, it’s none of my business. Now that I know it wasn’t a sign that your concussion is getting worse, we’re good.” He glanced away, then met Neal’s eyes again. “But if you want to, you know, talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

Neal reached for his water glass and took a few sips, letting each settle before taking another. After putting it back on the nightstand, he looked down at his hands and nodded slowly. “I need to lay down first. I’m…not feeling so great.” He was pale, except for a dark blush on each cheekbone.

“We don’t have to do it now. It can wait until you get some more sleep.”

Neal slid down under the covers until his head rested on the pillow, close to Peter’s hip. “Head hurts too much to sleep right now.” He sounded miserable, and Peter couldn’t help wanting to do something more. He waited until Neal was settled, then reached a tentative hand around to the back of the younger man’s neck. Neal jumped at the contact, but when Peter’s fingertips started lightly kneading at the base of his skull, he let out a grateful sigh and seemed to relax.

“This okay?”

“Mmm.” Neal’s forehead pressed into Peter’s thigh. “Helping.” He curled up as much as he could, wrapping an arm loosely around his abdomen.

Peter waited patiently for Neal to start talking, his fingers walking their way over the younger man’s neck and the back of his head, well below the injury. He could tell from his breathing that Neal wasn’t asleep, but as the minutes ticked by, he started to think maybe he’d changed his mind

They’d been through their share of ups and downs lately, and Neal wasn’t as willing to open up to Peter as he’d once been. It hurt Peter’s heart to think of what had happened to their relationship in the months since he’d been arrested, but it was also a relief to know that when push came to shove, Neal was still willing to let Peter be there for him.

“You were in prison,” Neal said softly, bringing Peter back to the present. “And I was in there with you. I could never figure out why. There was a mix-up, they had you in GenPop. I tried to get…ah.” He groaned and pushed into Peter’s touch, and Peter worked his thumb a little harder into Neal’s neck.

When Neal continued, his voice was lower. “I tried to make sure you were protected. The guards were supposed to watch out for you, but they didn’t give a damn unless they were getting something out of it.” He paused and wrapped his arm a little more tightly around his stomach. “It was different each time. Once you were cliqued - beaten – because you wouldn’t hook up. They took you to the showers and slammed your…your head…there was so much blood by the time I got there.” Neal swallowed convulsively and curled in on himself, his knees coming up to rest against Peter’s legs.

“Another time, you were shanked. Started at your stomach, went up to your…to your ribs. Everything was…you were bleeding, and I tried to stop it. And it was so warm – I could _feel_ it, and I couldn’t get it to stop, and it was my fault. You wouldn’t have been there –” His voice broke, and he started to tremble again.

“Neal, you don’t have to –”

“And every time – every _single_ time – I got there too late.” Peter could hear the tears, the anguish in Neal’s voice. The doctor had told them that Neal might be more emotional as he recovered, but Peter hadn’t expected it to come to this. “I tried, Peter, I did. I _tried_ , but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. I watched…I watched you die, and I couldn’t save you.”

Neal’s shoulders shook, and he buried his face between Peter’s thigh and the bed. Peter’s hand moved to Neal’s shoulder, then down to his arm, and before he realized he was doing it, he pulled the younger man even closer. Seeing someone cry always made Peter extremely uncomfortable, but in that moment, instinct took over. He’d always tried to be there for Neal, tried to protect him, and this was one time when he truly needed it.

Somehow, he ended up with Neal’s head and one shoulder cradled in his lap, against his stomach. Neal had groaned at the pain the movement caused, but then he seemed to settle in, grateful that Peter wasn’t pushing him away for crying. Instead, Peter stroked a hand up and down his arm and just held him, stunned by this new revelation. He’d had no idea Neal had been so deeply affected by the whole ordeal.

_I tried…_

Peter’s throat burned as Neal’s words took him back to that day in the apartment, when he’d learned that Neal stole the gold coins and forged James’ confession.

_You couldn’t find James, could you?_

_I tried._

The heartbreak in Neal’s voice that day had been devastating, even as angry as Peter had been with him. There were tears in his eyes then, too, but he’d managed to stay in control. And now, the tears he’d fought that day were back with a vengeance, soaking into Peter’s shirt, clinging to his skin like a tattoo of regret. 

_I tried, but it wasn’t enough._

By the time Neal was able to pull himself together, his breathing evening out, Peter himself was nearly in tears. He blinked them back and tried to force down the burn in his chest.

“Sorry, Peter,” Neal mumbled against his shirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I know you don’t like…dammit, I hate this.”

“Hey, no.” Peter ran his fingers gently through Neal’s hair, being careful to avoid the bandage. “Look, it’s okay. I mean, I didn’t know. You know, that you were having such a hard time with it.”

Neal tensed, and Peter stopped talking, watching him closely. “I always thought that the nightmares were supposed to stop when you woke up,” he said finally, his voice steadier but still hollow. “But then I’d…I’d wake up, and you were still in prison.”

Swallowing hard, Peter forced back another surge of emotion and waited until he could trust his voice. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry, Neal. For what this whole thing did to you.”

Neal shook his head, then hissed in pain. “It wasn’t about me, it was about you. About making sure you got out, that you were okay.”

“It was about you, too. Neal, you fought so hard to help prove your father’s innocence, and he –”

“Can we not talk about that now? Please?”

Peter took a deep breath and nodded, his fingers going back to Neal’s neck, kneading there again. “Sure, of course.” His mind scrambled for a change of subject. “Did the Tylenol kick in yet?”

That apparently worked, as Neal relaxed and slipped back down to Peter’s side, looking young and vulnerable. “Yeah. Still hurts, though.” Once again, he pressed his forehead into Peter’s thigh.

They fell back into silence, and while Neal seemed to be headed toward another nap, Peter couldn’t help brooding a bit. He hadn’t known what Neal had gone through during those six weeks, but he knew what he’d gone through afterward. Peter had put some distance between them, more for his own good than for Neal’s, but he might have done things differently had he realized how much everything had affected Neal.

He also couldn’t help feeling a flare of anger toward James Bennett. Not just for what he’d done to Peter himself, but for what he’d done to Elizabeth, and especially for what he’d done to Neal. Neal had given James a chance, believed him, tried to help him prove his innocence, did what he thought was right – only to have it all thrown back in his face. Not only had Peter ended up in prison, but Neal was plagued by terrifying nightmares, and he was forced into a situation where the only way out – the only way to help Peter – was to commit a series of crimes.

Though his life had always been about justice and not revenge, Peter almost hoped that someday he’d get a chance to make sure that James paid for what he did to Neal. The bastard didn’t deserve to be out there, free and clear, while Neal and Peter continued to pay for his crimes.

“Peter?” Neal’s voice startled Peter out of his contemplation, and he realized that he’d stopped massaging the younger man’s neck. His fingers resumed their ministrations, and Neal once again leaned into the touch.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. You know, for all of this.”

“Hey, anytime.” He took a deep breath, and before he could stop them, the words in his heart just came out. “You’re not alone, you know. I mean, outside of Mozzie and June. I know I said some things that…” He trailed off and shook his head, struggling to find the words that were sometimes hard for a man like him to say. “We’re here for you. We still _want_ to be, if that’s something you want. I just – I need for you to know that.”

Neal gingerly shifted until he could look up into Peter’s eyes. “Yeah. I, uh, I appreciate that, Peter. It means a lot.” He managed a smile, weak but genuine, and Peter was certain that he was being sincere.

“Okay, good.” He nodded matter-of-factly, and Neal’s head dropped back down to the pillow. “You should get some more sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Neal pressed back against Peter’s leg, and Peter could feel a peace fall over them. For now, _they_ were back, and they were okay. It felt like progress, and it lifted Peter’s spirits.

“Oh, so you let me come up with the plan for once?”

Neal snorted a laugh into his hip. “Hey, give me a break. I’m not exactly on my A-game here.” He half-yawned, half-groaned.

“Well, if you wouldn’t have tried to be a hero and stop our suspect…”

Neal grunted, and Peter could tell he was smiling. “Hero, huh? I’m not sure that’s quite how it happened, but if that’s what you’re going with, I won’t argue.” He reached down to pull the sheet up around his shoulders. “Was it at least a graceful fall?”

“Graceful?” Peter said with a chuckle. “Well, you were wearing a nice suit, so you get points for presentation, and…no, sorry, definitely the opposite of graceful.”

“Mmm. I’ll have to work on that. Lots of stairs at June’s.” 

“You know, falling down stairs gracefully really isn’t a useful skill to have.” Peter pressed a thumb into the meat of Neal’s shoulder, then walked his fingers over the muscles there. “Maybe practice sidestepping instead. You know, avoidance techniques. Should come naturally to you.”

Neal huffed and nudged him with his knee. “You’re lucky I can’t think straight enough to come up with a way to deny that.” This time, he yawned outright, then cringed from the pain it caused. 

“Okay, okay. Get some sleep. When you wake up, I’ll see about getting you something light to eat.”

“Pot roast isn’t light, Peter.”

“Neal, go to sleep.”

As Neal settled in, and his breathing started to fade into the steady rhythm of slumber, Peter couldn’t help smiling. Though the circumstances weren’t the best, it felt good to have Neal back in his life again, the way he had been before. It was nice to have _them_ back. He didn’t know if it would last – he hoped it would – but for now, he was grateful for the chance to be there for Neal once again.

\---


End file.
